


Half Alive

by tjstar



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Asexual Character, Blow Jobs, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Recreational Drug Use, Succubi & Incubi, Suicide Attempt, Vomiting, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-19 06:08:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9421913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjstar/pseuds/tjstar
Summary: He never feels okay.





	

**Author's Note:**

> the rape-scene (italic in the beginning of the work) is non-graphic, so that's why i just TAGGED it and didn't put a warning. but please, be careful.

He never feels okay. Since his birth, probably. He feels his soul rotting, his skin and flesh peeling off his sugar bones; his mind is a failure — it provokes him into doing _things_. And sometimes these _things_ are utterly disgusting.

So that’s why Tyler never feels okay.

 

***

 _Nothing_ happens when Tyler is seventeen — nothing to be ashamed of, at least. That’s what his therapist says. That’s what his parents say when Tyler battles the insomnia, thrashing and crying and hallucinating of the red eyes and blackened hands touching him where no one is supposed to.

Tyler loathes talking about what had happened _that evening_ , and not even hypnotherapy session can reveal his irrational fears.

_A dark, dark street, it’s Halloween, but Tyler’s trick-or-treating goes in a somewhat wrong way; sinister footsteps behind his back, prowling, approaching him._

_“Wanna have some fun, kid?”_

_Tyler doesn’t. He only wants to bring all the candies home._

_“Who are you?” Tyler asks, voice still mutating._

_The stranger’s face is covered in a mist. Tyler doesn’t like the mist so he just tries to escape from the dangerous zone._

_Asphalt hits him in the face, teeth clanking and vision blurring; he fights and kicks his attacker, earning nothing but laugh. Then, he just can’t help it — a chill air glides over his upper thighs as his jeans are being ripped down his legs —_

_Rough hands leave crescent marks on his tanned skin, screeching voice above him sings some kind of a lullaby, plunging Tyler into a dreamless sleep while the crime is being done._

_…Tyler only wakes up when the police officer begins to shine a flashlight at his closed eyelids. His jeans are still unbuckled, his underwear is covered in sticky fluids that aren’t his own —_

_“Do you remember who did this?” the unfamiliar people ask, gathering around him, confusing him, gobbling him with their gazes._

_“Blurryface,” Tyler stammers out._

Blurryface. Blurry for short.

“Demons don’t exist,” Zack — Tyler’s younger brother — says.

Tyler knows that.

But Tyler’s demon has a name and therefore he can take Tyler’s place.

He only needs to creep into Tyler’s body.

People say Blurryface lives only in Tyler’s panic-stricken mind.

And there’s no Tyler’s fault in what had happened.

There’s nothing to be ashamed of.

 

*** 

When he’s eighteen, he gets his first boyfriend — his parents are surprised at first, because their beloved baby-boy isn’t actually supposed to date guys, they think. Mrs. Belington — Tyler’s therapist — thinks otherwise.

“He has to move forward,” Mrs. Belington assures.

And so Tyler does.

Nick is patient and gentle, he never forces Tyler to do things if he’s not in the mood — they just talk about the music during their dates, they just kiss, they just plan to start a band once they graduate from high school.

“You’ve got potential,” Nick says, playing with the strands of Tyler’s always disheveled hair. “We’re gonna be famous.”

Nick lifts Tyler’s t-shirt up after this.

Tyler hesitates to say he’s not actually interested in starting his sex life — not like this, at least, not in his basement where he spends most of time.

When Nick leaves open-mouth kisses all over Tyler’s tensed neck and on his jaw, at the same time working on loosening Tyler’s belt, Tyler suddenly jostles him away.

“I’m not ready,” he says.

There’s a frustrated look in Nick’s green eyes, but he just nods in agreement and offers to work on the song they’ve been discussing an hour earlier.

There’s nothing to be ashamed of.

 

***

Tyler only thinks he’s ready when he turns nineteen, and they’re cuddling in Nick’s bed in Nick’s room, and every little thing here smells like Nick’s perfume and a bit like Tyler’s. This almost calms him down as he turns to Nick to start making out.

“I love you,” Tyler says.

“I love you too,” Nick gives him a predictable answer.

More touches, less clothes, more hot breathing, less air in the room. Tyler’s vision fades and gets back to focus along with the beating of his heart as his battered jeans join his t-shirt scattered on the floor. He’s so self-conscious he thinks he can barely get off while Nick strokes his half-hard cock, and Tyler blinks back his tears because he feels that’s not right.

It makes him want to huddle to the wall, to lock his knees, but the curious part of him just waits for the next action.

Surprisingly, Tyler doesn’t bottom this night. He guesses he’s supposed to, but his inner self is already too _hungry_ to think straight — _it_ coaxes Nick on his hands and knees so Tyler doesn’t even face him.

“It’s okay that you’re still a virgin,” Nick coos, hoisting himself up on the mattress while Tyler pushes into him.

“Yeah,” Tyler pants, holding his lube-slick hands against Nick’s bare stomach and rocking his hips to finally get some pleasure. He’s beyond clumsy.

“It’s just your first time,” Nick comforts him again, practically biting up his forearm because Tyler can’t control himself anymore.

But Nick is very wrong, and Tyler’s virginity actually belongs to the Day when Nothing Happened. On the dark street during the Halloween celebration, with the person whose face he can’t even remember. His brain doesn’t recall traumatic memories.

Tyler’s joints are twisting as something he mentally calls a nearing orgasm scorches his abdomen. He only lets out a low groan as Nick begins to tremble beneath him, mewling into the pillow as Tyler wracks his body with the powerful thrust.

He sees red, red and black for some reason, and as he raises his hand to wipe the sweat off his eyes he sees black too. It’s like some kind of a black tar smeared all over his palms and wrists, and Tyler just looks at it perplexedly, nearly wanting to pull out, but he just can’t.

Here’s a thick transparent dome around him, the outbursts of energy fill his system, seeping through his blood vessels, _red, black, red, black_.

Tyler comes with a strangled yelp, crashing down on Nick’s back and making him keel over. Tyler’s hands turn back to the healthy shade of his skin. Nick whimpers faintly, body limp and skin clammy; Tyler shoves his hand to reach for his boyfriend’s cock but finds a warm and sticky pool of come here.

“Hey?” Tyler just wants to talk about what he has just experienced, but a thump on Nick’s shoulder doesn’t wake him. He just keeps lying on his stomach which is probably gross since he has his own come smeared on the bedsheets.

“M-m,” Nick grumbles groggily.

“Good night, Nick,” Tyler sighs, closing his eyes.

He sleeps dangerously close to the edge of the twin-size bed, distancing himself from his passed out boyfriend.

In the morning, he just grabs his yesterday clothes from the floor, feeling violated and dirty, inside and out. He dresses up in silence.

In the morning, Tyler leaves before Nick wakes up.

Tyler’s life changes this day — he gets a call, a dreadfully-fateful one — Nick’s Mom is calling, drowning the phone in tears.

“Nick is dead,” she sobs out.

Tyler’s heart skips a beat, Tyler’s brain refuses to work.

“No, this can’t be real,” he whispers. “I saw him last night.”

“I know, dear, I know,” Nick’s Mom cries.

She still calls Tyler dear even though he fucked her son. Even though her son is dead now. Nick’s parents know the truth, the police knows the truth. They claim that it’s not Tyler’s fault; the autopsy says it is just a cardiac arrest. This happens to young people sometimes. No one blames it on Tyler.

The funeral is not much of a ceremony — only Nick’s relatives and some of his friends show up. Tyler weeps on Nick’s gravestone afterwards, his empty tears splatter on the black marble, staying here like tiny drops of molten wax.

“It’s time to go home, son,” his Dad says, his hand is heavy on Tyler’s shoulder.

Tyler’s home no longer feels like a safe place.

 

***

He’s twenty and his grief and mourning over Nick are gradually wearing off. He’s just dropped out of college and his Dad is beyond pissed. Tyler isn’t interested in joining a flock of the office plankton, and he isn’t interested in his basketball career either. He now has that shitty job as a cashier in Walmart just few blocks away from his parents’ house.

But Tyler dusts off the old piano in his basement — the one he was playing when he was dating Nick.

Guilt stabs at his heart when he thinks of this name, guilt makes him pull his hand out of his loose basketball shorts.

“Not allowed to touch myself,” Tyler says firmly, cupping his hard-on through the thin fabric.

Each time he tries, his hand covers with the black tar, or paint, or ash — he sees red as he begins to pump into his clenched fist, he can’t —

Tyler leans his free hand on the tiled wall in the bathroom, heaving erratically, jaws locked. He shouldn’t, he knows. His right hand just ghosts over the front of his shorts, no direct contact now; Tyler gives one tender tug to his throbbing cock, retracting his hand in a rush. He only manages to feel the precome dampening his underwear.

Sexual abstinence is probably not healthy.

Tyler doesn’t have to be ashamed of his needs.

He hasn’t jacked off for forever.

That’s exactly what he’s doing now, skin crawling and knees buckling as he fumbles with his cock in his shorts, travelling back in time to the day of that stupid trick-or-treating, to the dark alley.

“Oh no,” Tyler looks down at his hand, lower stomach cramping. He sees it in the slow motion — his palm, the back of his hand and his wrist turn to a lustrous black color. “Shit, oh, f-” Tyler exhales, slapping his mouth not to let a string of cusses fall out.

The hand over his lips is black as well.

The walls and ceiling are red, as if the red glass has covered the tight space of a bathroom.

He wants to stop it or at least to tug his shorts down, but he comes right there and then, right where he stands leaning his shoulder on the wall.

“Shit,” Tyler pants, hand gripping the wet spot slowly appearing on the front of his navy blue shorts, his boxers stick to his shaking thighs.

His legs wobble and his knees turn to jelly as he slouches down the wall beside the bathtub, just a pile of skin and bones. Tyler’s pounding head might burst open from the amount of blood flowing to it, cheeks hot and forehead sweaty as he looks at the mess he’s made all over his clothes.

Again, this brings him back to the day when he got sexually assaulted. Then, to the day when Nick died. Tyler thinks they’re related somehow, it’s just his brand new idée fixe; Blurryface — black hands — Nick’s lifeless body next to him. Tyler didn’t even know that he’d spent the night in one bed with a corpse, and all of it happened only because of sex —

“Tyler, are you okay here?”

His Mom’s voice has a physical form of the hard knocks.

Tyler keeps his hands between his knees, head bowed.

“Tyler, answer me!”

His soiled shorts cling to his groin. He hates himself for not being able to hold himself back.

“Tyler?!”

She evidently kicks the door.

Because Tyler has ‘frequent mood swings’, Mrs. Belington says.

He’s mentally instable.

He gets suicidal thoughts occasionally.

“Tyler, open the door!”

Tyler can’t bring himself up for it. His Mom is definitely going to notice her son’s semen spreading all over her son’s pants.

“I’m fine!” Tyler shouts back, getting up and loosening the ties.

“Tyler?” she sounds more relieved now. “Why weren’t you replying?”

“I was just thinking,” Tyler mumbles.

_Thinking about the demon he’s turned into._

“I give you fifteen minutes because Zack needs to take a bath after the basketball practice,” his Mom declares.

“Okay,” Tyler agrees, turning the hot water on. Hotness might burn his sins.

Fifteen minutes is enough to take a quick bath and clean up his shorts.

Tyler never tries to touch himself anymore.

 

*** 

At the age of twenty-one, Tyler’s life changes dramatically.

He’s legal to drink now which somehow helps him drown out Blurryface inside of him; Tyler doesn’t think of sex when he’s wasted. But he’s pretty sure Blurry thinks otherwise, making Tyler hit on the dudes in bars and clubs, overtaking Tyler’s body and mind and forcing him to fall into unfamiliar and way-too-rough arms.

But usually Tyler is drunk enough to simply black out or puke in their cars while he’s being driven away from the venues. They can’t rape him without disturbing Blurry’s slumber, and Blurry will definitely protect Tyler’s ass from getting assaulted. That’s the closed circle.

Tyler’s liver is probably going to fail due to his newfound addiction, but this doesn’t bother him at this point in time.

He meets her during a shitty house-party.

He meets her because he’s too drunk to stand straight.

Music howls in Tyler’s head, vision doubled and hands shaking, his legs are about to give up underneath him, and this lovely leather couch in the corner of the room looks like an island of safety. So he plops down onto it, woozy brain tells him there’s something wrong when somebody begins to squirm underneath his ass with the angry shout.

“Careful!”

“Pardon me,” Tyler burps, covering his mouth with his palm. Then he finally gets aware of the fact he sits on some pretty blonde’s lap. “Really. I’m sorry, I didn’t notice you,” he apologizes again, moving himself off her thighs. 

“That’s fine, buddy,” she chortles, patting his knee. “I’m not really noticeable, yeah.”

She has icy blue eyes with a faint glimmer of mockery in them.

“I like your face,” Tyler says musingly. He tucks one of her a little curly strands behind her ear. “What’s your name?”

“Jenna,” she smirks, reaching her hand for a shake. “Was just sitting here and getting bored until you fell on top of me,” she nods at him, completely unimpressed.

Tyler suddenly feels very sober.

Jenna doesn’t even ask his name.

“I’m Tyler,” he introduces himself as he squeezes her palm. “I just got drunk not to have sex with anyone in this room.”

“Welcome to my Loser Non-anonymous Club,” Jenna utters sympathetically.

Tyler giggles and drops his head on Jenna’s shoulder; the next moment he suddenly realizes he’s spewing out not ‘oh-you’re-so-funny’ giggles but ‘I’m-a-hysterical-kid’ ones. And Jenna probably notices it too when he begins to mutter bullshit about how insignificant he truly is.

“I’m the worst person, the unluckiest one,” he repents as she rubs his back.

“Bad break up?” Jenna guesses.

“Kind of,” Tyler chokes out.

“Get up,” Jenna commands, her nails trail down the back of Tyler’s neck. “I think I have something for you,” she adds, a smooth whisper in Tyler’s ear.

He pushes himself into a standing position, stumbling in the downstairs bathroom’s direction, Jenna follows him step to step as he enters it and heads to the sink to drown himself in the cold water. The owner of this house wouldn’t be pleased finding Tyler’s bloated corpse here, but whatever. Damn, he doesn’t even remember whose this house is.

Tyler eyes the razors on the shelf and ponders of his existence.

“Are you, like, okay?”

Jenna is still right behind him. He flinches. 

“Huh,” Tyler sniffs.

Jenna has a beige lipstick on her pursed lips.

He isn’t sure what exactly clicks in his head when he staggers forward and grabs her by her skinny shoulders, pulling her closer to him and kissing her on the mouth. He’s never kissed a girl before, so he’s a bit confused by the softness of her lips, by the light curves of her body, here and there, in all the right places. She sheds her grey cardigan off, standing in front of him in the tight golden top. Tyler sees his hand on Jenna’s waist blackening, signaling him to continue, and he’s really about to have one-night stand with a girl he’s never met before.

It’ll most likely kill her.

 _‘Whatever,’_ Tyler almost thinks.

“Do you have?..” Jenna bites her lips.

“No, I’m… um,” he suddenly gets too hot. “We… we’ll improvise.”

They continue making out, covered in lipstick and spit and mascara, wet breaths and dubious touches, and Tyler’s eyes turn everything to just red outlines.

This always happens whenever he gets horny. But this time he’s not aroused in the way he’s supposed to.

Tyler chickens out when Jenna’s hand is already down his jeans. Tyler chickens out because he simply can’t get fully hard.

“I think… I, um, I can’t,” Tyler is about to hyperventilate. “I think I’m gay.”

Jenna finally stops moving her hand, fingers wrapped around Tyler’s still mostly flaccid cock.

“You think you _who_?”

She still doesn’t pull her hand out of his boxers.

“I’m gay,” Tyler repeats, his fever reaches for at least thousand degrees. “Not attracted to girls,” he explains which only degrades him even more.

His palms aren’t black anymore, his vision clears. _He’s so ridiculously soft again —_

“That’s exactly what I need,” Jenna puffs her bangs off her forehead. “I knew that. Figured that out the second you sat on me,” she adds matter-of-factly, zipping Tyler’s jeans up. “I’m just searching for a guy to share the apartment with- kind of a boyfriend, but we don’t have to… you know, fake relationship. Without sex,” she pauses, scrutinizing him. “I’m pretty sure I’m asexual.”

Saying this, Jenna tucks Tyler’s crumpled t-shirt back into the waistband of his jeans.

“You tested me,” he half-laughs half-cries out.

“So. Do you have your own place?” she asks unflappably. “I’m not going to be jealous, you can sleep with dudes whenever you want.”

“You tested me, and I was about to get a freaking heart-attack of disgrace,” Tyler finishes. _‘Or I could’ve killed you if that had worked,’_ he notes to himself.

He twists and pulls his hair, locking his forearms in front of his face.

“Stop being so overdramatic,” Jenna rolls her eyes affectively. “What do you think about my offer?”

“Let me think,” Tyler croaks out, suddenly aware of the heaviness in his bladder.

He just throws a dreary glance towards the toilet while Jenna scribbles her phone number on his palm. To Tyler’s chagrin, she lingers, staring at Tyler’s flushed face and making him feel like a bacterium being inspected under the microscope.

“We’ll be a great couple,” she assures fervently.

“Sounds cool, but… can you please leave? I have to-” he glances at the toilet again.

If Tyler feels like he might die of embarrassment then Jenna doesn’t even seem disconcerted. 

“I give you a week,” she whispers before leaving a mouth-shaped smear of the leftover lipstick on Tyler’s cheekbone. “Call me.”

Then she just vanishes, leaving Tyler alone with his problems.

 

***

He agrees.

He just needs out so bad — that’s why Tyler makes that goddamn call, earning Jenna’s triumphant shriek. That’s why he tells his parents he has a girlfriend now, and they’re going to move in together.

Tyler’s parents are happy. They’re happy because Jenna is pure and flawless with her baby blue eyes and with her angelic look and she’s not a dude. She’s working as a nail-art master in a beauty shop. Tyler wonders how she can deal with this tedious job that obliges her picking under people’s nails.

“You have to think up the wedding, son,” Tyler’s Dad prompts.

“Yes,” Tyler replies with the automatic nod.

“Tyler is good at planning,” Jenna murmurs, hooking Tyler’s elbow and kissing him on the corner of his lips.

Tyler can imagine his parents’ hearts turn to puddles in their ribcages. Jenna is one year younger than Tyler but she’s wise.

“Finally I can have your room,” Zack exclaims cheerfully.

Tyler feels faint.

 

***

“I think Tyler is finally getting better,” is all that Tyler gets when he tries to overhear his parents’ conversation. “He’s so in love with this girl.”

Their parents help them find a lovely three bedroom apartment in a lovely living area; they say that the couple can always talk to them, and _‘if you need money or any other help, just call us, sweethearts’._

Neither Jenna nor Tyler gonna ask them for help even if the whole apartment building explodes.

 

***

Tyler is not getting better.

He only gets older, and his inner demon gets stronger, and his dreams get weirder — Tyler fantasizes of having sex with males, of drinking their energy and _finallyfinallyfinally_ letting Blurryface out. Tyler refuses though; then, his innocent erotic whimsies turn to night terrors where he’s slipping on the blood. He sees Nick in his dreams again: he just stands there stock-still, with the sunken eyes and yellowish pus dripping out of his bloody lips, flakey grey skin is as thin as cigarette paper.

Nick always comes to say —

_“You killed me.”_

Sometimes he adds one more word —

_“Incubus.”_

Tyler always wakes up with his meager dinner halfway up his esophagus and with his come drying in his boxers. The fact that he’s getting off on his nightmares only makes him feel sicklier.

“Bad dreams again? That’s okay,” Jenna comforts him, not getting mad at him even though Tyler can’t make it to the bathroom and empties his stomach’s contents into the kitchen sink.

“Not okay,” Tyler spits. The dishes are covered in his vomit and saliva. He only closes his eyes, and his dead and putrefying boyfriend makes appearance in his mind again.

“I’ll make chamomile tea for you,” Jenna says, turning to the cupboard. She delicately avoids bringing up the fact that Tyler hasn’t even changed his pants yet.

Chamomile tea isn’t helping.

Then Tyler develops his passion for alcohol, drinking more than his upset stomach can contain — that’s not helping either.

 

 ***

He knows he’s bound to break down and he does, spending the night with the middle-aged lawyer who has a golden ring on his ring-finger, and who likes getting fucked by the young boys. Tyler has just turned twenty-two and he fits perfectly.

By the time both of them reach their climaxes the lawyer is already way too drained to notice Tyler’s metamorphoses. Blurryface is way too powerful — Tyler catches his reflection in the round mirror above the bed — not only his hands are black, his neck is the similar color.

His eyes are filled with the red fire.

Blurry is just a huge funnel, consuming the man’s vitality and making him fall face first into the pillow. Once Blurry is done, Tyler emerges from his invisible trap and hastily checks the man’s pulse. It throbs under the pads of Tyler’s fingers, making the relief spread across Tyler’s chest.

He wordlessly takes his pants on and leaves.

He scrolls through the news the next morning — he finds an absolute nothing about the local lawyers who’ve died recently.

 

***

By the age of twenty-four Tyler has gained enough control over Blurry though he still has to let him out sometimes. But luckily, he can curb the incubus now, Blurry just takes the strength from his victims, not killing anyone.

Blurry is here only for sex, and Tyler has these wide eyes of a scared doe, these embarrassingly long eyelashes and this high-pitched voice that makes the males drool as Tyler says his trademark _‘wanna have some fun?’_

Blurry eats their lives then, not completely, but the doses are strong enough to make them pass out right after their orgasms. When Blurry finishes, Tyler can finally analyze the Hell he’s gotten himself involved into.

“Jesus, save me,” Tyler usually says.

Come on his hands and thighs, used condoms on the floor, a complete mess on the beds, couches and kitchen countertops — it depends on Blurry’s sick imagination.

And his lovers, oh, _lovers_ — clerks, cashiers and geeks in their Superman underwear; bartenders and even goddamn cosplayers. He’s even slept with the submissive truck-drivers in the cheap roadside hotels — Tyler sometimes finds cock-rings and butt-plugs under the squeaky beds. He gets drunk then. It’s hard to go to work afterwards.

“Save me,” Tyler prays, getting on his hurt knees.

Sometimes, Blurry lets him breathe — a week or two, and Tyler’s all the way hangover brain gets a glimpse of hope, but then he finds himself fucking another man without a twinge of guilt because Blurry is not a human.

Tyler is pretty sure his victims don’t even remember his face afterwards.

He never stays for the night.

 

***

“One of my co-workers says you’re cheating on me, Tyler,” Jenna informs him, entering his bedroom and immediately stumbling over the empty bottles. “Mixing your meds with alcohol again?”

“Huh,” Tyler mutters from underneath the duvet.

“What ‘huh’? Hayley saw you entering the bar with the dude with dreadlocks, can you be more careful?” Jenna throws the duvet off, revealing Tyler’s quivering frame on the bed. “Stop drinking, Tyler. I didn’t sign up for this!”

He wants to show her to the door but his slack hand just hangs over the side of the bed. He blames it on the chemical reaction — probably, mixing Xanax with cheap wine is not a brilliant idea.

“Quit drinking.”

She’s like a pesky bee, buzzing, buzzing, buzzing —

“Okay, I promise,” he grumbles, grabbing the duvet back. “I’m just gonna sleep now.”

He doesn’t see any bad dreams when Blurry gets what he wants.

 

***

Tyler meets him in the club where the music is too loud and awful and the alcohol is cheap enough not to burn a hole in Tyler’s wallet. Tyler is on his fifth or sixth round of gulping down Cuba Libre; vibrations in the air tell Tyler that the hungry incubus is already searching for the new target.

“Not enough to get drunk, isn’t it?”

Tyler raises his head up from the slippery bar counter.

“What?” he asks through a lamely remixed version of a lame pop-song.

“Having a rough night?” the stranger takes the stool beside Tyler, a flash of pink at the level of his head.

This guy has a neon sign across his chest reading VICTIM in bold red letters. He beckons the bartender and orders two cocktails before Tyler can stop him. It takes a second for Tyler to realize that the dude has ordered just a soda for himself.

“Why don’t you drink?” Tyler slurs.

The neon sign VICTIM only shines brighter.

“I’m driving,” he says.

Tyler shrugs.

If Tyler could stop drinking he would have been able to afford to buy himself a car.

“What’s your name?” Tyler inquires, taking the cocktail.

All the alcohol in his system makes him jittery.

“Josh.”

“Tyler,” Tyler leans in to clink his glass on Josh’s. “What are you doing in the club if you’re not planning on getting drunk?”

“Man, I dunno,” Josh laughs a little. “Dance, meet people, have sex maybe. There are lots of reasons.”

“Sex?” Tyler is triggered. “Wanna have some fun?”

“Are you interested?” Josh smirks, sipping on his soda.

“Maybe?” Tyler scoffs. Talking about sex is like roaming the minefield. He carefully lowers his hand to adjust his leggings on his groin when he thinks Josh doesn’t notice. He fails.

“Did you just-” Josh chokes back a chuckle. “Nevermind.”

“Did I just _what?”_ Tyler asks innocently, nearly sticking his nose into the glass.

“You’ve just touched yourself.”

“Really?” Tyler drops his hand so it hangs loosely between his spread knees. “I thought I was just sitting like this,” he slowly rubs his fingers across Josh’s thigh. “Or like this.”

Josh moves away from him, along with his stool, spilling his soda on the counter.

“Are you, like… Um,” he pauses. “A prostitute?”

“If this status gives me a ticket into your pants then you can call me whatever you want.”

Tyler doesn’t usually say anything like this.

Blurry had taken the money couple times (maybe four, maybe five); _‘leave the money on the table before sex so I can take them later’_ — this was his only rule. Blurry doesn’t rob unconscious people.

This is his pre-Blurry phase, when Tyler is still capable of having a cinch on his mind, but the monster inside of him is already about to leap.

“So you’re just hitting on me?” Josh scrunches up his prominent nose with the silver ring in it. He wets the jacket on his elbows as he props them back on the counter.

Tyler just watches him for a moment, analyzing, appraising, thinking up the risks — he’s definitely Blurry’s type. After all of the middle-aged losers he’s had to fuck, Blurry has given Tyler a template of the person who can bear the _manipulation_ almost without any harm.

Blurry doesn’t like obese people and he only lays Tyler in their beds to take revenge on him for his disobedience.

Blurry does like muscular guys in their mid-twenties, with strong arms and six pack abs and tattoos. Blurry revels in his success when he makes them bend over the table and wrecks their holes like a demented machine.

“Earth to Tyler?”

“What?”

Tyler distracts from his deduction. Picking up the energy donor is art.

“I asked- are you hitting on me?”

Josh has a nice ass.

Tyler downs the leftover cocktail. Three quick shots of vodka later Tyler ascertains that Josh is just perfect.

“Let’s go,” he wheezes as the alcohol burns all the way down to his stomach. “I forgot to do something important,” he gets up off his stool.

“But what exactly?” Josh asks with mistrust.

“To suck you off,” Tyler replies and heads towards the emergency exit, hustling through the people on the dancefloor. 

Somebody’s obviously having an orgy in the restroom, Tyler throws on the best of his scornful masks.

It’s such a good thing that Josh is right beside him — he doesn’t let Tyler fall down the emergency stairs as he suddenly goes all dizzy.

“Why are you doing this?” Josh groans once Tyler backs him against the wall.

“Because I spotted your boner when you just walked in,” Tyler deadpans, popping open the button of Josh’s khakis.

“You’ve got a flair for- oh, man, easy,” Josh hisses out as Tyler grabs his erect cock through his boxers.

Blurry doesn’t let him be gentle.

“That’s who I am,” Tyler says, pulling Josh’s underwear halfway down his thighs.

Tyler waits for his hands to begin blackening as he deepthroats him without any preparation, bobbing his head and sinking his fingertips into the skin on Josh’s hips. The tip of his nose touches Josh’s pubic hair, leaking tip of Josh’s cock hits Tyler’s tonsils as he thrusts into Tyler’s mouth. There’s the smell of sweat and precome, and Tyler wants to get off somewhat quicker — once he feeds his demon he’s finally allowed to sleep, to drown in the drunken haze.

Josh moans, shoving his fairly thick cock down Tyler’s throat and Tyler’s jaw begins to ache.

He doesn’t see the red palette.

His hands are still of a normal shade.

“Ts’nice,” Josh exhales in a soft murmur, combing his fingers through Tyler’s hair and forcing his head to move forward once again.

Tyler hums discontentedly, he can’t understand why Blurry isn’t going to celebrate his victory — Blurry _wants_ to fuck Josh until he bleeds, but Tyler’s cock isn’t twitching in his pants. Tyler just feels seasick because of the somersaults his guts are doing.

Blurry never bottoms.

Tyler never tops.

Blurry doesn’t have a hint of a gag reflex.

And Tyler is completely screwed up. Astonished, he lets Josh’s cock out of his mouth, still hard and with the streaks of Tyler’s saliva on it. Tyler only realizes that something goes as it hasn’t been planned when the alcohol begins to splash back out of his stomach in foul-smelling waves. Some trickles down his shirt, some stains Josh’s khaki pants.

“Crap,” Josh bounces away from him.

Tyler plants his hands on the ground and continues spewing his alcohol-induced vomit, not bothering to register that it gets on his own shorts, on his leggings underneath. His eyes are all teary, he expects to hear the footsteps, thinking that Josh is probably just leaving him to die here; instead, he feels a hand sliding up and down his spine.

“That’s okay, this happens, just breathe through it,” Josh comforts him. “This is exactly what happened to me when I tried to give my buddy a blowjob for the first time.”

Pity always makes Tyler feel useless.

“It wasn’t, ugh, my first time,” he coughs up and wipes the bile off his chin with his doubtlessly ruined t-shirt. He’s about to get up and go now, but Josh’s stare pins him to the ground.

“I can give you an advice- never drink gallons of shit if you’re going to suck dicks,” Josh points out, offering Tyler a hand.

“Shut up,” Tyler sputters. “You weren’t even that big.”

“Maybe, but your gag reflex said otherwise,” Josh fends off.

Turning a deaf ear to his words, Tyler snatches the red beanie out of the pocket of his black shorts and pulls it on his head.

“Where are you living?” Josh continues trying to have a conversation with him. “I have pretty high puke tolerance level unlike taxi drivers.”

Tyler isn’t sure why his mouth spits out his address. And Josh helps him get into his car, helps him buckle up, gives him wet tissues to clean himself up and uses them to get rid of the sick on his own khakis.

Tyler is pretty much out of everything; he drops the pack of tissues on the floor beneath the seat and lets his head loll lifelessly as Josh drives the car in an unknown direction. Tyler’s instinct of self-preservation squeals in his head, alerting him — Josh might just be one of those rapists. Tyler doesn’t listen.

“I didn’t get you off,” Tyler says regretfully.

The last thing he hears before passing out is a piece of wisdom —

“Don’t worry about that — my right hand is my best friend.”

 

***

Tyler barely identifies that somebody’s scolding him, practically roaring right above him. He then realizes he hasn’t even made it to his bed, half-sitting on the floor, half-leaning on the side of the mattress, neck is all stiffened up due to being bent at the strange angle.

“And now explain, why the hell there is the vomit in the bathtub and a whole toilet seat is covered in piss?!”

Tyler wants to say that early in the morning he probably tried to deal with both of his urgent needs at once. Tyler’s tongue and his throat betray him.

“Tyler? Did you get drunk again?”

Tyler wonders where Jenna managed to get a hammer. 

“Oh, of course, you did,” she snaps angrily.

The volume of her voice is hurting his head really bad.

The pain sparkles down Tyler’s back, embracing his right side and his abdomen like a hot hoop, making him lurch forward with his arms wrapped around his middle.

“Ouch, why did you hit me?! That was my liver,” Tyler lets out a pained moan. “My poor liver.”

“Of course your _poor_ liver is killing you, but I haven’t even touched you yet!” Jenna grips at his shoulders, trying to uncurl him from his uncomfortable fetal position. “You’re going to give yourself ARLD one day, you stink, and what the hell are you wearing?”

Tyler belches at the poignant smell coming from his dirty clothes.

“I swear I’m gonna kick you the fuck out!”

Tyler pays his part of the rent regularly, he can’t understand why Jenna is acting like she’s his wife and he’s a serial cheater. He doesn’t even argue when Jenna’s flat palm lands a blow on the back of his head, forcing his face to collide with his knobby knees, still pulled to his chest. It hurts, and Tyler’s busted bottom lip begins to bleed, copper taste causes another onslaught of sickness.

“Do you know what was I doing last night?” Jenna asks. Tyler shakes his head. “I was trying to find _you_ , all night long, for fuck’s sake! I called all of your drinking buddies, I drove to their frigging houses to find you or your breathless body, Tyler!” she sniffs, voice cracking.

“It won’t happen again,” he promises meekly. For the twentieth time.

“Get up and get your shit together,” Jenna commands. “Don’t even try to talk to me until you’re clean and sober again.”

She slams the door shut, blowing up Tyler’s pounding brain as he tries to pick himself up off the floor and make amends.

 

***

Jenna doesn’t leave her room until the noon; in the noon, Tyler slightly kicks the door since his hands are loaded with a cup of coffee for Jenna and a glass of water for himself.

“Sobered up?” she asks sleepily, standing here in just her pajamas, hair braided in a messy ponytail.

Tyler nods and hands her the cup.

“I don’t drink coffee with sugar,” Jenna says dryly as she takes a sip.

“Sor-” Tyler flinches as Jenna locks the door. “Right. Personal space, all that crap,” he mumbles, sliding down the wall and playing nervously with the sleeves of his mustard hoodie.

He ultimately falls asleep still swaddled up in his raging hangover. A half an hour later Jenna peeks into the hallway and yanks the door open so Tyler falls into her bedroom like a rag doll.

“I’m so pathetic,” he breathes out wearily, shrinking into himself.

He expects to hear Jenna’s ‘yes’.

“Tummy troubles?” she asks softly.

Tyler gives her an uncertain shrug.

“I cleaned everything up, the bathroom, I mean,” he says. “You were right — it looked disgusting, I even threw up once again just at the sight of it, but don’t worry, there was no blood, and I cleaned that up, too,” he assures. “I shaved and changed my clothes, and I don’t stink anymore, can I be your friend again?”

His insides protest when he sits up on the floor and takes the glass. Jenna’s blank face doesn’t show any emotions. Tyler anxiously pulls up his sweatpants, anticipating another surge of fury that never happens.

“You can take a nap here if you want,” Jenna says with a heavy sigh. “But if you wet my bed-”

“Nah, I’m so dehydrated my body just can’t muster any liquids anymore,” Tyler replies, shuffling towards the bed and putting the glass on the chair. He sees an empty cup here, stained with Jenna’s lipstick. It seems like she’s made an exception and drank coffee with sugar.

He just falls on the bed, turning to his side so Jenna can spoon him, rubbing small circles on his stomach.

“Forgive me,” Tyler tries. “I forgot to call.”

“Just never do this again,” she says, nuzzling his neck. “You’re my best friend, I am responsible for your life,” she continues and Tyler nods. “You’re gonna be okay if you quit acting like this. Now sleep,” she adds through the veil of drowsiness ranging all over Tyler’s brain.

She doesn’t apologize for his split lip.

He doesn’t tell her about Josh.

 

***

Tyler rarely smiles because of his crooked bottom teeth and his swollen lip doesn’t make things easier. Tyler thinks people stare at him while he puts their purchases through the scanner. _Whatever._

Two weeks later (two weeks of peace — no nightmares or wet dreams spotted) Jenna offers him to go out for a shopping and resurrect their friendship. Tyler agrees, even though he doesn’t feel hurt anymore.

They’re wandering the shopping mall aimlessly, with Jenna blowing bubbles of her cherry gum and with Tyler carrying all the bags of different labels.

“Just two more hours,” Jenna nearly begs when Tyler gets bored of the bustle around him. “I’ll buy you an ice cream cone,” she promises.

“Deal,” Tyler agrees. He hates the malls. But an ice cream cone sounds really good since his bones are about to melt surrounded by hot air.

He braces himself for another fountain of gossips Jenna is about to share with him, but the next moment Tyler feels a strong rush of blood to his head as he notices a familiar silhouette a few feet away from him.

“Hide me,” Tyler blurts out, standing behind Jenna cowardly while she glances at the jewelry in the showcase.

“What’s happening?” she asks amazedly. Tyler just grabs her hand and tries to haul her away.

“That guy,” Tyler whispers, carefully pointing his finger at Josh. “With pink hair. I know him, and I don’t really want him to see me here.”

“Have you slept with him?”

“What?!”

He asks this with the _‘how did you know?!’_ intonation.

“Fine, you have,” Jenna rolls her eyes. “And he was either very good or a very bad laid if you still remember him. So what’s your problem?”

She doesn’t even move, just stripping Tyler’s soul.

“And you liked him,” she concludes.

“Yeah, but…” Tyler lingers, bags are stuffed full of rocks all of the sudden. “I got sick on him.”

“Go and apologize then,” Jenna urges. With that, she takes all of her things from Tyler’s hands.

Josh heads in their direction, but he hasn’t seen Tyler yet — Tyler screws his eyes shut as if this can make him invisible. It’s a mistake, because Jenna jostles him and he nearly loses his footing, only opening his eyes as he feels he’s being steadied upright.

“Oh, it’s you!”

This sounds almost joyful.

Tyler looks back, not finding Jenna anywhere near him.

“Hi, Josh,” he drawls sourly.

“You look much better today,” Josh compliments. “Like, dressy.”

Jenna likes it when Tyler wears button-up shirts when they’re out to go somewhere — it’s a light blue shirt this time.

“Thanks,” Tyler huffs. “You look good, too. I like your snapback.”

Josh’s teeth are big and white as he smiles at Tyler sincerely.

Tyler wants to fall through the ground and straight to Hell.

 

***

 **Jenna:** _If you’re selling drugs I swear I’m gonna kill you. :( Text me back when you’re not busy getting your ass drunk._

 **Tyler:**   _i don’t drink anymore. just spending time at josh’s_

 **Jenna:** _Can I call you guys Joshler already?_

 **Tyler:** _i personally prefer tysh_

Tyler isn’t sure why, but he ends up hanging out with Josh in his apartment. Tyler isn’t really smart, he feels strangely safe with Josh; he hasn’t felt like this for ages — since he was two and his Mom sang him lullabies.

True to his word, he isn’t drinking.

But Josh offers to hit the bong instead.

“Have you ever tried this before?” Josh eyes him concernedly, packing the bowl with marijuana.

“Sure,” Tyler says sheepishly.

“Lying?”

“Yeah.”

“Be careful for the first time,” Josh instructs him, shifting towards Tyler where he sits on the floor in the living room.

Josh’s apartment is nothing like Tyler’s. Jenna makes him mop every inch of his room and polish his piano, and she always gets upset when she finds Tyler’s clothes not in his wardrobe. And Josh has his t-shirts and pants hanging from the chairs, he has this I WANT TO BELIEVE poster on the wall, and there’s an electronic drumset in the corner. Here’s just one bedroom though.

“It’s not actually mine — a friend from the band I was playing for left it here,” Josh explains, bringing the glass tube to his lips and striking a lighter.

He inhales then, so obviously enjoying himself Tyler is envious. He had tried to smoke the weed once but nearly hacked up his aching lungs afterwards. Tyler looks at the water bubbling in the bulb and thinks that his chest feels the same way each time Josh gives him attention.

Josh is a bit flushed after just one hit and he relaxes, puffing out the smoke and passing the bong to Tyler.

“Just be careful,” Josh warns him once again.

A short strike of lighter again, a boiling liquid and Tyler’s eyes water as he sucks the steam in, letting the drug draw intricate ligatures in his lungs. It gets him, hard; he almost coughs up the smoke but coaxes himself to hold it in his mouth for a while, then exhaling a long whitish cloud.

“Um,” Tyler hums, leaning on the armchair.

“Good?” Josh asks before preparing the bong for another hit.

“Yeah.”

There’s a dizzying pleasure splashing in Tyler’s brainpan and he stretches, his muscles weakening.

He doesn’t feel just half alive when he’s with Josh.

Josh hands him the bong again, and Tyler doesn’t complain that the weed burns his nose and settles on the inside of his cheeks. Four hits later, Tyler laughs carelessly, closing his eyes and throwing his head back, his neck is oddly limp.

Josh is right beside him, poking at his bicep and making him feel stupid.

He cups Tyler’s chin, effortlessly getting his head back on its place.

“Ah?” Tyler blinks.

“Don’t fall asleep yet,” Josh repositions himself on the floor so half of Tyler’s weight spreads on Josh’s shoulder.

“‘M not sleepin’, huh,” Tyler slurs, words viscous. “I jus’ wanna kiss ya so bad.”

“I don’t mind,” Josh whispers, bending, his nose almost bumps against Tyler’s.

His face is so close Tyler’s eyesight loses its focus, causing him to squint and giggle.

They share long, weed-tasting kisses in the weed-smelling room, relishing each other’s lips and slowly discovering each other’s bodies. Tyler doesn’t even think of anything like jerking off as Tyler’s hand habitually rubs his crotch. He even wants to stick his knees together as Josh’s hand covers his own.

“Let me,” Josh says suavely. And Tyler lets him.

Tyler snorts a little when Josh unzips his skinny jeans and spits on his palm before helping Tyler take off his underwear.

Josh’s kisses become more ardent as he moves his hand up and down Tyler’s length, fluently gathering pace, and Tyler gets _impossibly_ high. He’s about to shake hands with the bong and thank it for making him feel so good.

It’s probably gonna be over _impossibly_ quickly.

Josh licks the inside of his mouth again as Tyler’s hips jerk hastily towards Josh’s calloused palm, once, twice, three times before he finally loses it; his cock shoots thick ropes of come, staining his own jeans. Tyler giggles as he comes, smiling so wide he feels the dimples forming on his cheeks.

“Never thought this could be so fun,” Tyler remarks. He then turns to Josh and tugs at the ties on his pants persistently. “Sit up. Here,” Tyler urges him to get up off the floor and sit on the armchair with his legs spread as Tyler works on getting him free of his pants and boxers.

The carpet is scratchy under Tyler’s bony kneecaps, leaving red round marks on the skin under his jeans. He bows his head, heaving out short breaths as his tongue draws a thin wet trail from Josh’s navel to his groin.

Tyler takes him into his mouth slowly, gradually lowering his head to let the tip of Josh’s cock brush over the back of his throat, pressing Josh’s thighs firmly to the armchair not to let him roll his hips and choke him.

“Are you sure-” Josh starts, interrupted by Tyler’s quiet moaning.

He moves his head almost monotonically, saliva drips down his chin, but for the first time _ever_ Tyler is not grossed out. He’s not even grossed out by Josh’s precome gathering in his mouth.

“Oh- T-ty,” Josh grips the armrests so hard his nails leave the scratches on the cheap leather.

Tyler hollows his cheeks, nearly allowing Josh to pull out and then taking him whole in a rush, slick and heavy on his tongue. Josh’s muscles tense and soften in Tyler’s mouth, in his throat, then tensing again and releasing warm and almost tasteless streams. Tyler swallows, missing some drops in the corner of his lips then smiling at Josh once again. Tyler smiles because he realizes that Blurry isn’t bothering him at all. His hands are tremoring, but they’re not black. He’s still pretty high, but he doesn’t see red.  

He doesn’t feel like he’s just sucked Josh’s life out of him, he doesn’t feed his demon, he’s getting better —

“I like your mouth,” Josh breathes out, whites of his eyes are a bit pink. “By all means.”

Tyler doesn’t respond and just turns away while Josh tucks his cock back into his boxers.

Tyler wipes his mouth on the back of his palm. Maybe it’s time to call it quits and the high is fading, and Tyler should really get home before Jenna gets a chance to blow up his phone with the avalanche of messages.

Tyler gets up, still a little woozy, and stands in the center of the room unsure what to do next. He wants to brush his teeth, he’s hungry, and his come on his jeans is way too conspicuous —

“Stay,” Josh says. “I’m sleeping alone in the double bed. Stay.”

Tyler never stays for the night. But it’s time to sort out his priorities.

 

***

“You smell like sex,” Jenna teases him as he enters the kitchen next morning. “In a good way though,” she adds. “Enjoy it while you can.”

She’s making waffles, waltzing across the kitchen in one of Tyler’s old t-shirts. The scent is wonderful, mixed with cinnamon and coffee.

“Don’t wanna kill me for being late again?” Tyler chuckles, reaching for the mug.

“Are you kidding me?” Jenna sounds confused. “One message and I’m the calmest girl on Earth!”

“Yeah, I didn’t forget this time,” Tyler says with pride. “And I didn’t get drunk.”

“You know, I already like Josh,” Jenna says honestly.

Tyler smirks.

Luckily, Jenna doesn’t smell the weed.

 

***

He thinks he starts dating Josh. Josh is six months older than Tyler and he is nice, his jokes are cheesy and his puns are just terrible — this is exactly what Tyler needs at the moment. Tyler tells him about his bizarre friendship with Jenna, about living together and Josh understands.

“She’s like my little sister,” Tyler says.

“You’re really kind,” Josh replies.

This conversation doesn’t make Tyler want to take a bath with a toaster.

Josh doesn’t force Tyler to have sex even though they’re already naked in Josh’s bed with Josh squirming between Tyler’s legs, and Tyler can’t even bring himself up to look in Josh’s eyes.

“Haven’t bottomed in a while,” Tyler mutters, nearly recoiling as Josh’s fingers press to the tip of his cock. “Almost virgin again.”

He conceals the fact he’s never ever bottomed before. Except that day When — doesn’t matter.

“You can top if you want,” Josh offers, hand still touching Tyler’s groin. Tyler whimpers. He can’t top, not when he’s with Josh — topping means dominance, and _Blurry_ likes to dominate. Tyler doesn’t want to play with fire.

“I think I…” Tyler bites his lips anxiously.

“I just wanna make it feel good for you,” Josh says, his hard cock straining against Tyler’s inner thigh, leaving glistening damp smears.

But Tyler declines Josh’s offer and takes Josh’s cock into his mouth instead — he has no words to be said. He just enjoys the guttural noises Josh is making when Tyler works on getting him off, sweating nervously. He slightly squeezes Josh’s balls with one hand, teasing his own cock with the other at the same time.

Tyler is so close it makes him feel defenseless.

Josh hits his orgasm with Tyler’s name on his lips; Tyler just closes his eyes as he spills into his own palm, a little startled by the sudden gush of come streaming down his throat. Tyler gags but manages to swallow and keep it down.

He’s sure his hands turn black for a millisecond.

 

***

For the next month, everything is just a fairytale with the late night conversations and with morning coffee and Taco Bell dates, but Tyler’s pessimism-ridden mind tells him that it’s not going to be like this all the time.

“I have to leave the city for like three weeks,” Josh utters apologetically. “My friend’s band tries to make it in music industry — they have a little tour, but their current drummer broke his ankle yesterday.”

They’re in Tyler’s kitchen, eating pasta Jenna cooked for them last evening. The food transforms to larvae in Tyler’s mouth, he can barely gulp it down.

“I’m sorry,” Josh continues, tousling Tyler’s hair. “When I start my own band, I’ll make you a lead singer.”

“Yeah, you should go with them, I understand,” Tyler gibbers, burning his tongue on his coffee.

Nothing can be better than playing the real drums.

“I promise not to have sex with groupies while on tour,” Josh jokes, coaxing Tyler out of the table and tugging at the elastic waistband of his pajama pants.

Tyler doesn’t give any promises, just staring in awe at the muscular and half-naked Josh in front of him.

 

***

The first week of the tour is not that awful — Josh keeps calling him every day, keeps making posts on his Snapchat, they have lots of Skype conversations — Tyler’s hand unwillingly lowers to his crotch as he contemplates a sweaty and buzzed Josh on the screen of his laptop.

“Are you doing okay?” Josh asks with a concerned smile.

“Yeah,” Tyler responds uncertainly.

“We’ve had a bunch of shows and I mentally dedicated every song to you, sorry, this sounds stupid,” Josh laughs, running his fingers through his pink mohawk.

“No, that’s really sweet,” Tyler grins. He then glances at his abandoned piano in the corner of the room. He thinks he should show Josh his old untitled demos one day. “I wish I was allowed to join you.”

“I wish you were here,” Josh nods. “These hotels are so shitty. How’s Jenna doing?”

“Keeps roasting me for my every wrong step, but that’s okay. I feel much better since… since I stopped drinking,” Tyler confesses. His hand slides to his jeans’ zipper again.

“What are you doing?” Josh moves closer to the web-camera.

“Nothing,” Tyler huffs out, putting both of his hands on the table. “Just nothing.”

 

***

The beginning of the next week greets him with a wet dream again — Tyler doesn’t even remember what he’s seen, but he hopes it wasn’t a nightmare. When he wakes up, the mess in his soaked boxers already starts to congeal, his palm sticks to the damp spot.

The same thing haunts him three nights in a row.

“It’s just because you miss Josh,” Jenna supposes. Tyler doesn’t even try to figure out how she managed to find out his problem. “Raging hormones or something like that. Just deal with it how you guys used to deal with the stress.”

This night, Tyler falls asleep with his hand down his pants and with Josh’s tank top pressed to his chest.

 

***

When Tyler regains consciousness, there is an ominously cold body right beside him. The pounding in his temples indicates hangover — Tyler winces at the daylight pouring directly on his face and blinks his eyes open.

He doesn’t remember blacking out here.

He doesn’t remember getting drunk, but the empty bottle of tequila is like a landmark.

A naked dude next to him is a landmark, too.

“Jesus,” Tyler groans, rubbing his eyes with his fists before giving a light slap on the dude’s bare back. “Hey mate, how did I get here?”

No response.

“Man?” Tyler scoots closer to him, gradually sobering up.

The body next to him has dark curly hair and a straight nose, and his eyes are closed, and —

“Oh fuck.”

The tendrils of dread tangle up Tyler’s sternum as he checks the guy’s pulse. Nothing. Just a pale skin with the wet speckle of Tyler’s sweat on it.

“Oh fuck.”

Tyler feels like he might vomit his own heart as he swallows thickly and reaches for his phone on the floor, for his jeans or for his underwear, at least — being exposed in front of the corpse horrifies him, smashes his dignity, and —

Tyler is a murderer. He glances at his almost _dead_ phone. He almost killed it too.

_Missed calls (36)_

Three from his Mom, two from Zack and thirty-one from Jenna.

_New messages (24)_

Tyler ignores all of them as he calls the police and the ambulance.

“Oh fuck.”

There’s a commotion forty minutes later, with disturbing questions, family calls, inspections, with cars and sirens and with a black body bag — Tyler avoids looking in that direction while people in white coats examine the corpse and the police ponders whether Tyler could kill him or not.

Tyler just can’t concentrate on the words thrown at him.

_Tyler has killed a man._

Jeremy Stall was twenty-seven years old and had had a heart disease. That’s what an autopsy says. They haven’t had a kinky sex: no choking or spanking or ball-busting, just a quick fuck to feed the incubus. _But Tyler knows that Blurryface tricked him and had taken all of Jeremy’s strength; Blurryface gloats, and no one is going to find out the real cause of death —_

“It most likely happened in the morning and definitely not during sex. Hours later, probably,” the autopsist says.

_Tyler has killed a man._

“It’s not your fault,” the police officers decide, looking at Tyler scornfully. But Tyler is sure they should throw him into the prison.

_Tyler has killed a man._

But they don’t hold anything against Tyler. Ironically enough, Tyler is a lucky one.

 

***

He’s having a nervous breakdown, flooding Jenna’s chest with tears like a burst of a dam as she tries ineffectually to calm him down.

“I’m like a male version of a black widow,” Tyler hiccups up.

Jenna’s cradling his head on her lap, patting his hair as he keeps pitying himself. His back is killing him, his innards churn, his heart aches.

Tyler did it to himself out of his own free will.

Because he was stupid enough to go and meet Jeremy’s parents and offer them his money to hold the funeral. Jeremy’s grieving father started a fight, but Tyler was frazzled enough not to smash his stupid face with his fist. He got thrown off the front porch and kicked in the kidneys so hard it caused him to piss blood in the roadside bushes an hour later when he was walking back home.

“We should call Josh,” Jenna interjects. “This can’t keep going like this.”

Tyler is certain he’s lost him. He cheated on Josh. Josh has the right to treat Tyler like he’s the dirt sticking to the bottom of his shoe.

“No, please,” Tyler scrambles away from Jenna, blowing his nose into a tissue. “I text him once I feel better.”

He doesn’t want to make Josh worry while he’s on tour.

And Jenna believes him.

And Josh keeps calling him and texting him, but Tyler doesn’t text back. Though he tells Jenna that he does.

Two days later, he assures Jenna that he’s getting better. He’s stopped getting panic attacks every hour and Jenna can pack her things and visit her parents as she’s planned. Tyler promises he’s going to call his Mom and ask her to spend the weekend with him.

“I don’t know if this is right…” Jenna gnaws her lip. “Are you sure you’ll be fine?”

“Yes,” Tyler says. “Yes.”

Jenna leaves the apartment with frozen anxiety in her eyes.

Tyler doesn’t call his Mom.

 

***

_what have i become? i’m sorry._

Tyler re-reads the sticky note before pinning it to the fridge.

He even sings something under his breath as he enters his bedroom and drags the bedsheets off his now useless bed. Tyler convolves them in the rope, thick and strong, just enough to hold his weight. The ceiling fan is placed high enough, but if Tyler gets on the chair standing on the table, he reaches for the mounting bracket.

“It’s okay,” Tyler convinces himself. “I’m gonna be fine.”

Nick and Jeremy are dead.

Josh is going to break up with him anyway.

Tyler is out of bounds, and God knows what might happen if he loses control over Blurry again.

“I shouldn’t be scared.”

Tyler ties his makeshift noose around the downrod. He almost wishes he had a chance to make a phone call and explain everything to Josh. To tell him about the incubus that makes him have promiscuous sex to consume the strangers’ energy.

“Goodbye.”

Tyler throws the loop over his neck, making sure it tightens over his throat when he’s about to jump off the improvised mountain of furniture.

He wiggles his toes, red socks look almost stylish.

“Goodbye,” he repeats as if the walls can hear him.

Tyler doesn’t say his third goodbye, just making a timid step into the empty air. His head begins to ache as he thrashes his legs instinctively, trying to find a support; but the chair falls, the table falls and all of Tyler’s insecurities and fears are dull, being strangled.

His nails scratch the noose, mouth ajar in attempts to breathe, but Tyler did a good job at cutting off the last chance to survive. The Pandora’s box in his head breaks, the memories flow into his air-lacking brain — _trick-or-treating, a smarmy voice, cold fingers, and his face is blurry, blurry, blurry —_

Tyler coughs.

Then, he gets aware of the fact he coughs up the _air_ hitting his lungs like water from the garden hose. There’s the ground under his feet, under his ass because he’s about to fall unconscious and he can’t keep himself upright. He feels the bedsheets being unwrapped off his parched throat, hands holding his head and shoulders as he falls back again. Tyler shudders when he sees red, but second later he realizes that the red is actually bright-pink, and there are warm brown eyes staring him down.

“J…s…sh?” Tyler wheezes out in turmoil.

“You’re so stupid,” Josh says, voice wavering. “Jenna gave me a spare key before I left for the tour.”

Tyler coughs again, lungs work properly, pumping the oxygen back into his body.

“Gonna call an ambulance,” Josh searches for his phone.

“Don’t,” Tyler hacks up. “C’n breathe now.”

To prove this, he takes a huge gulp of air. Josh hesitates.

“You need help,” he responds shakily, still restraining Tyler’s body on his lap.

“Ambulance won’t help,” Tyler gibbers hoarsely. He clears his throat again. “Why did you… get back early?”

“They cancelled the last few shows,” Josh replies. “Jenna called me today and said you weren’t doing well.”

Tyler is _still_ not doing well.

“I cheated on you,” Tyler squeals out. “I cheated on you and the other dude died. I killed him.”

“No, you didn’t,” Josh argues. “It’s just the lack of air.”

“I tried to kill myself because I killed two people,” Tyler sniffs, eyes watering from both coughing and the heaviness on his chest.

Tyler lets out just wet breaths as Josh slowly glides his hand over Tyler’s neck, the skin is bruised, the esophagus is trampled as Tyler swallows his saliva. Josh looks just devastated.

“I need you to fuck me,” Tyler suddenly says as if it means nothing. Josh is going to refuse, of course, because Tyler is filthy, Tyler is just a whore —

“What the hell?” Josh fidgets underneath him.

“Please,” Tyler pleads through the blood rumbling in his ears. “This might save me, please, Josh, just one time- I can’t explain, but _I need to_ get off, no- both of us need!”

He’s on his knees again, craving to get Josh’s lips, palm stroking Josh’s cheek. There’s the scratchy stubble here, tracing all the way down to Josh’s chin; Tyler gives him a light peck on the mouth, instantly getting back for more as Josh doesn’t reject him.

“You’re crazy,” Josh pants, wrapping Tyler into a hug. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Tyler whispers.

“I thought that was the end. You know, you, hanging from the ceiling.”

“I didn’t have enough time to choke.”

“Good for you,” Josh flinches a little when Tyler shoves his hand between Josh’s legs.

Tyler leans for the kiss and gets it.

“Bed?”

“Bed.”

It’s easy to get Tyler out of his loose clothes, and it’s easy to do the same with Josh. He constantly asks if Tyler is okay and what if his head and neck still hurt.

Tyler is wide-awake and semi-conscious at the same time, lying on his back and drowning in the scent of Josh’s skin — it’s a mix of Josh’s sweat, his deodorant and stage dust since he hasn’t taken a shower yet.

“It’s gonna feel a bit cold,” Josh warns, smearing the lube over his fingers.

It doesn’t bother Tyler.

It doesn’t bother him when Josh’s finger sneaks into his entrance and twitches there; Josh pulls backwards.

“I can stop.”

“Stay.”

Tyler wraps his legs around Josh’s waist as Josh keeps fingering him, in and out, scissoring and stretching, and this time Tyler doesn’t feel like it’s not right.

He only gasps slightly as Josh adds the third finger.

Tyler focuses on the lovely freckles on Josh’s shoulders, then on the disquieted look in his eyes.

“Ready now?” 

“Always.”

Josh isn’t particularly big, but Tyler’s ass burns as if he’s huge.

Slow, careful thrusts to let Tyler adjust to the foreign sensation; Tyler moans as Josh’s hand takes his cock and his fingers clench around its base. He never stops moving his hips, hunching over Tyler and pushing deeper; Tyler props his hands on Josh’s chest, keeping him at a distance.

“Ow,” Tyler hisses as Josh hits his prostate.

“Sorry,” Josh puffs out. “Got carried away.”

“That’s fine,” Tyler assures, buckling his hips towards Josh’s.

Josh keeps jerking him off, keeps murmuring things to comfort him, and it’s so heartbreaking Tyler nearly begins to cry as he comes.

Josh follows him seconds later, filling Tyler with stickiness and promptly pulling out. Tyler winces a little as Josh’s come begins to drip out of him.

“Thank you.”

Tyler’s speech is incoherent due to both euphoria and the pain in his throat.

“Thank you,” Josh echoes his words.

“I cheated on you,” Tyler reminds him.

“Sleep, Tyler,” Josh grumbles, letting Tyler’s incredibly light head rest on his chest.

 

***

Surprisingly, they wake up together.

Tyler starts with having a heart-to-heart with Josh, casting aside all doubts — he tells him about everything what has been happening to him since the age of seventeen to present days.

Tyler rambles and he can’t stop, and Josh _listens_ to him — about the Halloween, about Blurryface, about Nick and about how Tyler’s hands turn black each time he gets aroused. Tyler just pours it all out, heaving out messy excuses and begging Josh to forgive him and not to tell his parents or Jenna about his failed suicide attempt.

“Sh, take deep breaths,” Josh soothes him as Tyler falls into his embrace. “You just need help, Tyler. We gotta go get some help.”

“You’re the only one who doesn’t obey him, you make me feel free and alive, and without you there’s no control over Blurry,” Tyler’s laments flow like a river, a waterfall, a tidal wave.

“…and you’re gonna say you’re an incubus?” Josh glances at him mistrustfully.

“Blurry makes me,” Tyler responds, glancing at his lap.

“And he can’t get me?” Josh clarifies.

“Yes. And he’s so, so mad, he didn’t let me touch myself while you’d been on tour, I’m so, so sorry,” Tyler realizes how much he’s screwed up.

“Red eyes and black hands?”

“Exactly.”

“Even when you try to jerk off?”

“Yes,” Tyler nods, sniffling again.

“Has somebody else seen this?” Josh’s facial expression changes.

Tyler doesn’t like it.

“No, I’m… we usually were drunk and they were on their hands and knees and passed out later,” Tyler stammers out.

“But jerking off causes the same effect?” Josh asks again.

“Yes but…” Tyler pauses, blushing. “This doesn’t give Blurry any satisfaction. That’s not a cure. He hates it when I try to use my hand and-”

“Stop,” Josh raises his hand up. “I have an idea.”

Again, Tyler doesn’t like it.

Two hours later he’s in the bedroom, with Josh purring and biting the sensitive spots on his neck from behind, his hands massaging Tyler’s crotch and stripping him down to his boxers.

Tyler’s bed is the next stop.

“I think it’s a bad idea,” Tyler gasps out as Josh takes his cock in his palm and rubs his thumb over the slit.

“I think it’s good,” Josh shrugs and grins, yanking Tyler’s cock once again. “I need to see you getting off by yourself so I can prove you wrong.”

“What does that mean?”

“Blurryface doesn’t exist.”

And Josh rolls off of him, leaving Tyler sprawled on the mattress in just his underwear, dumbstruck and painfully hard.

“Josh,” Tyler squirms, shamefacedly placing his hand over his erection.

“I can turn away,” Josh offers and does so. “Warn me when you’re gonna come.”

Tyler groans and reluctantly shoves his hand down his boxers.

Jerking off in one bed with Josh practically watching him is uncomfortable. Tyler likes Josh’s hand better than his own, but if he’s not getting himself off right now, he’s going to come all over himself anyway. Tyler glares at Josh’s back and twitches his wrist for this to be over as soon as possible, to smudge the precome, biting at his free hand not to moan. The black tar is here already, startling Tyler and nearly making him get soft again, but he perseveres.

He jerks off diligently, hollering for Josh, vision flashing red and black.

“I- it’s coming,” he exhales.

Josh turns to him, worried, right in time when Tyler’s come sprinkles his black palm, his stomach, his boxers. Climaxing, Tyler catches Josh out of his periphery — he’s taking a picture on his phone — a picture of Tyler fucking his hand like a crazed porn-addict.

“It was hot,” Josh concludes, looking at the screen.

“I’m gonna die now,” Tyler mutters, inspecting his come forming a whitish membrane between his fingers. “Wait, what?” he sits up in a rush, wiping his hand on the blanket.

“It was so hot I almost came in my pants,” Josh says.

Tyler’s hands are not black now but he’s positive they were.

“Show me,” Tyler snatches Josh’s phone in disbelief.

This pic is a quality one.

This pic is Tyler lying with his _brown_ eyes half-lidded, hand gripping the bulge in his underwear. Not a black hand.

“See?” Josh is more worried now because Tyler throws the phone away.

“Oh my God,” he mumbles. “Oh my God.”

This pic enlightens him.

 

***

It takes so long just to feel alright.

It takes so long just to believe that his hallucinations were so strong they’ve been occasionally overlapping the reality.

It doesn’t take long to find a good therapist again. One of Josh’s almost famous friends gives them the contacts. 

“I have to get myself checked for AIDS and STD,” Tyler swallows through the wave of shame.

Josh doesn’t mind.

Tyler is clean.

Both of them let out a breath of relief.

And Josh forgives Tyler for that one time with Jeremy.

“Nick and Jeremy both had just had heart diseases,” Josh states. “You’ve just met them at the wrong time in the wrong place. This is not your fault.”

“You didn’t kill them,” Tyler’s new therapist says. “It’s just how your post-traumatic stress disorder works.”

Tyler got raped when he was seventeen. Tyler now remembers that man’s features — his hands were covered in a black paint.

“Your mind has just created Blurryface as a coping mechanism and has made him your protection, your shield from sex, from getting used,” Tyler’s new therapist says.

It opens Tyler’s eyes.

He can’t stand the truth, because the incubus was so real it could overtake Tyler any second, operating his body. All. Those. Years. Tyler has been acting like a nymphomaniac for long enough to finally take a breather. He isn’t sure how he is going to live with the fact he’s fucked dozens of different dudes only because he thought his nonexistent demon was coercing him into.

“I’m not gonna leave you,” Josh promises, pecking Tyler’s temple. “I love you.”

“You gotta leave it all behind. I love you, weirdo,” Jenna’s eyes are all glassy and wet as Tyler finally explains his secret.

“You can always come to us if something is wrong. You know how much we love you,” Tyler’s parents say.

Tyler spends more time with Josh now, Tyler’s parents apparently think they’re having threesomes with Jenna. But Jenna is still pretty asexual.

“We deal,” Josh encourages him as they enter the therapist’s office again.

Quality meds in right doses, support groups three times a week and psychotherapy sessions work miracles. Tyler doesn’t even feel like a zombie anymore. Big rooms with big windows make Tyler feel like a lonely fish in the aquarium.

“I’m gonna get better,” he says firmly.

Writing poetry helps him too.

Tyler is recovering.

At the age of twenty-six, Blurryface is nowhere to be found.

At the age of twenty-six, Tyler finally is the only owner of his mind and his body.

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by: twenty one pilots — Jar Of Hearts (Christina Perri Cover) and a bit of the Untitled Demo (2011)  
> \---  
> i just wanted to experiment


End file.
